


Silent Night (Hidden Track)

by Savageandwise



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, McLennon, Work of fiction, not my take on reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 15:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13149165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageandwise/pseuds/Savageandwise
Summary: Once upon a time John kissed Paul and then never mentioned it again.All Paul wants for Christmas is to find out what it was all about and if they can do it again.John and Paul, Christmas 1958.





	Silent Night (Hidden Track)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blossom10060](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blossom10060/gifts).



> This story was written for Emma for Christmas! Happy Christmas, dear!
> 
> It's based on the last chapter of [Smoke Gets in your Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10023938/chapters/22344089) where John kisses Paul. You said at the time you were curious about what happens next!

It was awkward to miss someone you saw every day. For months now Paul had been walking on eggshells around John. They practiced together, wrote songs, sometimes they even went to the pub with the band and had a couple of pints but things had changed. There was a polite coldness to John that Paul had never seen before. As if he could take Paul or leave him. 

One night, a lifetime ago, John had pushed him up against the window frame and kissed his mouth, full on, like he'd kiss a bird. Then he'd stripped off his trousers and climbed into Paul's bed. Just like that. Paul knew he should have been disgusted but he hadn't been. It hadn't seemed wrong at all. He'd woken in the middle of the night his hand in John's. And all he could think was: _l want this. This is what I want. Who I want._

John still spent the night occasionally. On those nights Paul wouldn't sleep a wink. He'd just lie there afraid to move, afraid to breathe. He didn't think it was particularly fair of John to kiss him and then never speak of it again. Some days he wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing. But there was the way John would look at him. As if he had been about to speak but thought better of it. 

“I can't see a bloody thing without me glasses. You know that. I'm not staring at you,” John would protest. 

Paul wasn't stupid. He knew John was trying to come up with a way to talk about what had happened. Paul would daydream about confronting him. He'd demand an explanation, he'd push John angrily and call him a coward. In the end though he held his tongue, he needed John too much to risk losing their friendship. Being backed into a corner made him irritable and short tempered, something Mike remarked upon at once. As Christmas drew near his brother warned him to pull himself together. 

“It won't be a very good Christmas with dad clucking around you like a mother hen. What's happened anyway? Have you had a falling out with John?”

“Why? What have you noticed?” Paul asked anxiously. “Why John?”

Mike shrugged. “Nothing. I figured it wasn't a girl. You've never been miserable over a girl. They're always in floods over you. And John's always rowing with someone, isn't he?”

“Nothing happened with John,” Paul said shortly. 

“If you say so. But I'm not sharing my Christmas sweeties with you no matter what Dad says,” Mike said.

Paul had secretly hoped John might be in a better mood come Christmas but he was just as cold and disagreeable as ever. He came over for a short practice session on Christmas eve at Paul's insistence. He had a gift for John, The Everly Brothers “All I Have To Do Is Dream”, inexpertly wrapped in newspaper with a bow he'd stolen off a bird he'd kissed in the cinema one evening. Paul wasn't sure if he wanted to give it to him now. They were sitting on Paul's bed, side by side, their knees almost touching and John was so distant he might as well have been a million miles away. And Paul couldn't take another minute of it, not another second.

“Enough,” Paul said.

John shrugged. “You're the one who never wants to stop until we've got it. I couldn't give a fat tinker’s.” 

“No, I mean I've had enough. You can't keep pretending nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened, Paul.”

“You kissed me!”

There it was. He'd said it. Paul shut his eyes and waited for the deluge. Instead there was an awkward silence. He could feel John pulling away, the sickening crunch of their fragile bond snapping. 

“You're cracked,” John said softly. 

There was a quiver in his voice so faint, Paul almost missed it. 

“You… I'm not… I didn't dream it…”

“How would I know what you dream of?” John sneered. “Someone like you… ”

“Oh, get stuffed! You kissed me. You put your… all I want you to do is admit it! And… well why? Why did you?” Paul asked.

That night, months ago, Paul had kissed him back almost at once, his mouth parting beneath John's willingly, his breath catching in his throat.

“Because it's alright, you know,” Paul whispered.

“It's alright? You don't know what you’re fucking talking about.”

For a moment all Paul could do was stare. Then his skin prickled with unspeakable rage. He wanted to grab hold of John and march him straight out of the house.

“Fine. Don't talk about it. Let's pretend it never happened. Why don't we pretend we never met either while we're at it?”

“You sound like a bloody girl,” John laughed cruelly. “Are you going to cry about it now?”

Tears pricked Paul's eyes but he wasn't about to let John see. He turned away and stared at the floor. 

“Get the hell out,” Paul said softly. His voice cracked despite his best efforts. 

John looked at him in shock. Paul expected some horrible, biting answer but he just stood there in silence. He left the room and ran downstairs. Paul could hear the front door slam behind him and then a roar from the living room, as Jim warned him to take care not to break the house.

Then Paul was alone with his undelivered Christmas gift, his muddled head, the horrible realisation that he'd been hoping for a second act. He'd been hoping John would kiss him again and now it was clear he wasn't going to. He lay down on his narrow bed, something crunched beneath him, a packet of cigarettes, good imported ciggies from America. John had either found them or stolen them off some drunk sailor. Paul slid one out and held it in the palm of his hand. He lay there for ages not lighting it, not moving.

He thought of the evening John had kissed him, the way he'd plucked the cigarette from between John's lips. Partners always share. The look John had given him still made him blush furiously, the naked desire, the decisive way he'd stepped forward and manipulated Paul into a corner, put his hands on him like he belonged to him. He'd kissed him boldly, there had been no mistake about it. No way Paul could have imagined it or dreamed it up. His lips parted and John slid his tongue into Paul's mouth, a bolt of electricity shot straight through him when he felt it smooth and wet against his own tongue. 

Before he knew what was happening Paul pulled on a jumper and rushed to the bathroom to head down the drainpipe. He only hoped John had gone home to Mendips. He had to get there and somehow make things right. If he didn't he'd regret it for the rest of his life. He just knew it. He swung a leg out the window and started to climb down the pipe.

“Watch out, lad. We'll break the thing if we both try to climb it at once.” 

Paul couldn't believe his ears. He slipped back through the window and looked down. John Lennon was climbing the drain pipe, his cheeks were flushed with cold and exertion. Paul took hold of John's arm to steady him as he stepped through the window. Paul felt dizzy with relief. He wanted to laugh out loud. But instead he just stared. As they walked back to Paul's bedroom he struggled to find the right words. All he could think was: _You came back. I sent you away and you came back to me._

“The strangest thing… I was on my way home and I saw your neighbours.”

“Neighbours?” Paul asked in confusion.

“Yes, they were still outside, in this cold and damp playing cards! Cards! And it's well past eleven in the evening. Isn't it just hilarious?” John sounded overly cheerful, his face flushed and animated. 

Paul hadn't seen him this happy in ages. A short wave of irritation ripped through him. Wasn't it just like John? His moods were as changeable as the weather. Paul never knew what to expect.

“The nativity,” Paul said, a sudden burst of laughter escaping him. 

“What?”

“Those weren't neighbours, John. You thick lad. You must have seen the nativity. You know, life-sized wooden statues? Mary, Joseph, the lot…” 

John started to really laugh now. He sat down heavily on the edge of Paul's bed and Paul joined him, laughing weakly.

“The nativity, John. Wear your glasses, you idiot. You miss so much when you can't see properly.”

“What else did I miss?” John asked seriously. He looked at Paul anxiously.

Paul looked down for a moment, gathering his courage.

“You might have noticed I liked it… when you… I liked it. I like you, really.”

John put his hand on Paul's knee nervously and then pulled it away. 

“Do you? Did you?”

“You're an idiot,” Paul whispered. “I really like you.”

They slid together like magnets, John put his mouth against Paul's and they sat there, not quite kissing yet just breathing in each other's air. And then Paul gripped John's hands tightly in his own and kissed him properly. Kissed him like he didn't intend to stop despite Mike next door and Dad downstairs, despite the fact that John was a boy and it was wrong to like him this much, despite the fact that they'd been arguing a scant hour ago. The clock in the hall chimed 12 times for midnight. They stopped and stared at each other almost shyly.

“Merry Christmas to all,” Paul whispered.

“And to all a goodnight!"

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas everyone! Happy New Year!


End file.
